A lovely meadow a year ago. Now a dusty-to-muddy track amid piles of dirt, ground asphalt, spilled motor oil, chunks of smashed concrete. How I feel ... exactly.
I had the best time.
Before Belle and I set out on our morning walk I checked email for details about today's prompt in Susannah Conway's 2014 August Break community project. Oh, my ... "today is." Previous days certainly have been easier was my first thought.
I gathered up our stuff: plastic bag, leash, camera. Today is. Today is. What?
Well, first of all I've been in something of a fog the last few weeks. Head down. Doing what I had to do. Not not OK. But, not with it either. I've really tired to pin down reasons, to understand, to move on -- beyond whatever. But, I've been a little stuck.
Today? An "aha" before we reached the end of the -- very short -- driveway. I don't like going for walks anymore. I don't like going for walks anymore. We moved here a year ago and walking the golf course before it opens and after it closes has been a lovely priority, an anchor for my days. Yes, I did know that the owner of the course doesn't like recreational walkers. And, yes, I had read the prohibition against it in the "Declarations of Rights, Restrictions, Affirmative Obligations, and Conditions Which Constitute Covenants Running with Certain Lands of Golden Hills, Inc." (Couldn't resist charming you with that title.)
But, there's always a but ... Lots of people quietly walk the course anyway. Like Belle and Janet.
In early July all homeowners received a friendly reminder from the course owner which outlined all the "thou shalt nots" involved in living here. Not wanting somehow, somewhere, someway to be made an example of I took the walking rule to heart. Belle and I now traverse the narrow streets, which we have to share with cars and their drivers.
It was this morning that it hit me just how much I miss it. The water; the birds, animals, insects; moving water in Twelve Mile Creek; early morning sunlight glancing across clipped greens; the closeness to the woods; the leading lines of the cart paths; the quite places simply to stand and look.
By no means am I blaming my 2014 summer fog on the owner of Golden Hills. Fogs are just part of life, part of the deal. I am, however, realizing that my current state might have been less extreme had I not been relegated to the pavement. Had I had the comfort of more nature, of less busy surroundings.
This post's title mentions turning a corner. Its first sentence declared I had a good time. I think I have. I did. With the photo prompt for the day as my guide I looked for and made photographs of the sadness, or the powerlessness I feel, photographs of how much I don't like being put off the course, photographs of the things that tempt me to grind my teeth or to whine or to act out. Miraculously I do feel better.
Before Belle and I set out on our morning walk I checked email for details about today's prompt in Susannah Conway's 2014 August Break community project. Oh, my ... "today is." Previous days certainly have been easier was my first thought.
I gathered up our stuff: plastic bag, leash, camera. Today is. Today is. What?
Well, first of all I've been in something of a fog the last few weeks. Head down. Doing what I had to do. Not not OK. But, not with it either. I've really tired to pin down reasons, to understand, to move on -- beyond whatever. But, I've been a little stuck.
Today? An "aha" before we reached the end of the -- very short -- driveway. I don't like going for walks anymore. I don't like going for walks anymore. We moved here a year ago and walking the golf course before it opens and after it closes has been a lovely priority, an anchor for my days. Yes, I did know that the owner of the course doesn't like recreational walkers. And, yes, I had read the prohibition against it in the "Declarations of Rights, Restrictions, Affirmative Obligations, and Conditions Which Constitute Covenants Running with Certain Lands of Golden Hills, Inc." (Couldn't resist charming you with that title.)
But, there's always a but ... Lots of people quietly walk the course anyway. Like Belle and Janet.
In early July all homeowners received a friendly reminder from the course owner which outlined all the "thou shalt nots" involved in living here. Not wanting somehow, somewhere, someway to be made an example of I took the walking rule to heart. Belle and I now traverse the narrow streets, which we have to share with cars and their drivers.
It was this morning that it hit me just how much I miss it. The water; the birds, animals, insects; moving water in Twelve Mile Creek; early morning sunlight glancing across clipped greens; the closeness to the woods; the leading lines of the cart paths; the quite places simply to stand and look.
By no means am I blaming my 2014 summer fog on the owner of Golden Hills. Fogs are just part of life, part of the deal. I am, however, realizing that my current state might have been less extreme had I not been relegated to the pavement. Had I had the comfort of more nature, of less busy surroundings.
This post's title mentions turning a corner. Its first sentence declared I had a good time. I think I have. I did. With the photo prompt for the day as my guide I looked for and made photographs of the sadness, or the powerlessness I feel, photographs of how much I don't like being put off the course, photographs of the things that tempt me to grind my teeth or to whine or to act out. Miraculously I do feel better.
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